


overtime.

by freiline



Category: Tennis no Oujisama | Prince of Tennis
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-03
Updated: 2018-10-03
Packaged: 2019-07-24 17:55:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16180223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/freiline/pseuds/freiline
Summary: Tezuka had never seen someone as beautiful as him.





	overtime.

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ToastySilverLinings](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ToastySilverLinings/gifts).



> This is a little AU fanfic I wrote for my good ol' friend Sagi! Happy Burpday, you owe me because I never write fluff like this. (No but seriously, happy birthday. We've known each other for only half a year now but you're a good friend, have this poop fanfic)
> 
> I spent 5 days writing this (not full days of course) and yet it came out this crap so I apologise in advance. I'm not used to writing narratives and especially anything this... non-angsty, if you will.
> 
> The only thing that has really changed is that Tezuka didn't become a professional tennis player nor is Yuushi a doctor, but because of the implications the latter would have in canon, I decided to just make this a full AU. I had a whole backstory thought up for Yuushi but because I wanted this to be a simple oneshot of a guy meeting another guy at a cafe (and for the sake of realism), it isn't mentioned.
> 
> I feel like I always talk to much here so I'll stop now.
> 
> To get into the mood of writing this, I created a playlist! If anyone's interested in giving it a listen, here it is  
> https://open.spotify.com/user/ansighety/playlist/63nqT8yJK38y47Te4pX9QC?si=aVf0DGdgSZahK7UdSkwVIw
> 
> Enjoy!

It’s been three weeks since then. Tezuka was never really one for sentimentality, but how could he forget when he would forever remember the day he’d see someone as ethereal as him?

As much as he didn’t want to offend those who fantasised and dreamt of the day they’d meet “The One”, their soulmate, the person they were to spend all of eternity with till death do them part, Tezuka didn’t believe in love at first sight. He thinks he doesn’t have an ounce or a single bone in him capable of being as optimistic or as naive enough to believe that immediate, on-the-surface physical attraction could in any way amount and call itself an equal to the level of deep understanding and affection you grew and cultivated over time with the person you loved. It was ridiculous and if he were to be honest, while he doesn’t see himself as one much for romance, he found it an insult to the very sanctity of love.

However, he couldn’t deny the fact that this man had stolen his breath away. The man who’d come to order a simple hot cup of black coffee and take his time to savour it whilst typing away on a silver laptop. He was beautiful, in every essence of the word. He was bold yet gentle, elegant yet brimming with passion, soft but not delicate by any means. Like a wild blue flower, tucked away in the far depths of the forest, away from the prying and sacrilegious gaze of human eyes.

Tezuka was totally captivated.

* * *

Early in the year, before the dawn of his third year of life as a language university student, Tezuka found himself taking up a part time job as a barista at a small cafe along the way to his apartment. At first, it was supposed to be short-term; the notion of learning a new trade from scratch alongside earning the funds to buy a new tennis racquet were both rather appealing. However he soon found a sense of achievement in earning money for his expenses, and even after obtaining said racquet, he found it hard to quit.

In Tezuka’s first week of working at the cafe, he made eye contact with all the customers that came in and greeted them with a bow from his position behind the counter, as was customary in any food and beverage job. Months went by and Tezuka soon grew rather desensitised by it all, something he was certain his other co-workers and others in the food and beverage business could relate to as well. He soon enough fell into the motions without giving them much thought, letting his mind take the back seat and his body to rely on muscle memory. A hasty bow of his head accompanied by an audible enough “Welcome” that lacked the same enthusiasm it did on his first day, his eyes barely, if even at all, reaching the customer’s eye level. In hindsight, perhaps Tezuka should have been more attentive that day.

It was your average Tuesday morning. They opened up the shop and a few minutes upon opening, a handful of customers had already started to trickle in. Some merely stopped by to order a drink and take it along with them, while others brought their accompanying sandwiches to a table and took their time to savour each sip and indulge in every bite. For better or for worse, the young man fell into the latter.

The same as always, the little bell attached to the top of the front door rung and all the staff greeted in practised unison.

“Welcome. May I have your or—” The words seemed to have fallen back down his throat as he looked up, completely mesmerised by the other party that now stood on the other side of the counter, and his own hands completely frozen on the countertop.

Beautiful. That was the only word that came to mind, and the only word that now rung between his ears. Did the customer go on to relay his order, showing complete disregard for how Tezuka had seemed to have forgotten how to breathe and that there was now nothing resembling consciousness reflected in his eyes? If so, then Tezuka heard none of it because all he could hear was his own voice in his head repeating, once again, ‘ _ beautiful _ ’.

Dark strands hung loosely down towards his shoulders like ocean waves reflecting the night sky, framing his features and truly, what  _ brilliant _ features they were. Soft eyes kept behind circle-shaped glasses, seemingly for the purpose of obstruction because how could any regular mortal look someone like him straight in the eye without being blinded or paralysed? If that were the case then it was a failure in its function, since clearly that was what Tezuka was now experiencing; he was blinded by the beauty of the night sky and paralysed in immense wonder.

He was certain he wouldn’t have been able to knock out of the trance if not for the kick he received from one of the staff behind the counter with him, hidden from the customer’s view (though the same couldn’t be said for the look of shock on his face that followed).

“Um, excuse me?” His voice was a low timbre, smooth and clear like silk and crystal, and it tingled the very depths of Tezuka’s stomach.

“I-I’m sorry, yes?” Tezuka wanted to die. All he could hope was that in such a short span of time he had successfully managed to school his expression into one of complete professionalism, or at least look as though he  _ wasn’t _ petrified to the bone by the customer’s attractiveness.

“A hot, black coffee please.”

“A hot black coffee, yes right away. I’m sorry for the wait, sir.”

The customer shook his head and gave a kind smile, warming up the chill Tezuka felt inside of him from the embarrassment of a slip up. “It’s okay, I wouldn’t be in the right frame of mine at this time of the day, either. Hence the coffee.”

The young man’s words penetrated deep within Tezuka and his vernacular was strong and thick like honey, an undeniable Kansai accent in slow slurs that reverberated within Tezuka’s head. Tezuka’s had relationships before, he wasn’t  _ entirely _ an amateur when it came to the workings of love despite his appearance, but he thought that was the first time in his life that he’d ever felt his heart clench from the words of a complete stranger.

Tezuka didn’t think he would be able to forget that voice any time soon.

“Thank you for your understanding. Please take a seat, we will serve your order to you shortly.”

“Thank you.”

After the man gave a small bow of his head and walked away, Tezuka discovered in that moment that he had the ability to last a few minutes without breathing.

* * *

Tezuka was now fully aware that he was staring. Or at least he wasn’t at first but after his friend (who he latter on discovered was the one that prodded him from under the counter) commented that the customer Tezuka was presently ‘gawking’ at probably didn’t think too much of his slip up, he realised that he’d been gazing over at his distance for the past few minutes.

“It’s rare for you to be that out of it, though.” Kikumaru leaned against the counter with his hands behind his back. “Didn’t sleep enough last night?”

Tezuka adjusted his glasses. “No, I had enough sleep.”

“Then, don’t tell me… are you…  _ that _ ?”

“Kikumaru.”

“Sorry, sorry. I was kidding~ But honestly, that guy  _ is _ pretty good-looking. He looks like our age, right?”

“I think so.”

“Heh~ Must be nice, being that good-looking~ I bet he has a girlfriend. I want a girlfriend.”

After Kikumaru’s dramatically wistful sigh, he gets called by the manager and Tezuka was grateful for the diverted attention away from him. He felt his face grow warmer with each passing second he spent staring at the man and eventually, after Kikumaru came back, Tezuka excused himself to go to the toilet and wash his face. He soon found that to have been for naught, because the man stayed in the cafe till evening came and Tezuka couldn’t keep his eyes off of him.

* * *

Tezuka got caught off guard again when the man came back the next day (it wasn’t an everyday occurrence to bump into the  _ same _ good-looking person two days in a row, after all, could you blame him?)

The man came at about the same time he did the previous day and once again, Tezuka was rendered speechless, though he managed to quickly snap out of it this time without someone else’s assistance and he believed that he made less of an embarrassment of himself this time around.

“A hot cup of black coffee, please.”

“A-A hot cup of black coffee, right away. Please take a seat, we will serve your order to you shortly.”

“Thank you. It’s nice to see you’re feeling better, Mr. Barista.”

Before Tezuka could come up with some witty response that would make him look less like a dazed idiot, the man left with an amused smile and found a table for himself a short distance away from the counter. Tezuka hadn’t much time to sulk and brood over his brain’s inability to function whenever he was in the presence of that man because right after him was another customer, and another customer, and then another customer.

At some point things eventually calmed down, as it normally does during the weekdays, and Tezuka received the chance to take a closer look at the man while he took a few sips of his coffee. He soon realised that the man was now finished with his cup of coffee, and Tezuka began to panic when the person in question stood up and walked back over to the counter.

“I’d like another cup of black coffee, please.”

“Another hot cup of black coffee, right away. You didn’t have to come back all the way to the counter, sir, we could’ve gone to you.”

“You’re too kind, Mr Barista. Thank you. You seemed to be looking over at my table a fair bit so I figured I wouldn’t have to worry if anyone tried to take my belongings.”

_ He noticed. _ Tezuka’s mind was now in a haze, too focused on the growing heat beneath his skin and the increasing rhythm of his heartbeat to even attempt at forming coherent words or showcase some resemblance of normalcy.

Now would be the most opportune moment for the floor to suddenly open up and swallow him whole, into an endless abyss similar to the status of Tezuka’s mind (which was at present blank and empty if not for its constant attempts at reminding Tezuka how  _ gorgeous _ this man looked).

“I’ll just go back to my seat. Thank you for your hard work.”

In spite of his current state, Tezuka rushed to bow his head and thank the man as well before the latter could retreat to his table and go back to typing away on his laptop. Tezuka informed one of his co-workers that he needed to go to the washroom, and he excused himself as fast as he could.

He didn’t think water would work as well as it did yesterday.

* * *

The next day wasn’t one of the days he had work and so, to utilise the school break, he asked a few of his friends if they could go out and play tennis together just like the good old days. Tezuka was glad that he finally had the opportunity to try out the tennis racquet he so painstakingly worked to be able to afford, and the thought of how he achieved the means to do so made his mind drift back to the dark-haired stranger from the cafe.

For the most part, he was in the moment, his moves calculated and his strokes confident. But on occasion he found himself back in the cafe, watching the small purses of the man’s lips or the occasional furrowing of eyebrows. He wondered what the young man was so hard at work at if he spent two full days at the cafe merely typing and typing and typing some  _ more _ , only to take a break whenever he’d sip at his drink or ask for another. Would he be at the cafe today too? And if he were, would he notice Tezuka wasn’t there?

Kikumaru took the chance presented before him, of Tezuka’s mind distant and absent from reality, and scored a point.

“Oi, Tezuka! Are you going to be absent-minded here too?!” Kikumaru shouted from across the court, a wide grin on his face and the teasing nature of his voice all too vivid.

“ _ Too _ ? When has Tezuka-buchou ever been absent-minded, Kikumaru-senpai?” Momoshiro came strolling towards them from the court just adjacent to theirs, with Oishi his opponent following soon after out of curiosity.

If it was even possible, Kikumaru’s grin grew wider. “Just the other day, he blanked out in front of a customer. Had to kick him to get him back to reality.”

Momoshiro looked over at Kikumaru inquisitively, clearly not convinced by the too preposterous a claim. “Are you serious? Don’t lie, Kikumaru-senpai~”

“Kikumaru.”

"Sorry." He immediately backed down after Tezuka walked over to join the three of them, but Kikumaru's smug expression remained the same.

“I think it’s getting late,” Oishi chimed in, visibly amused as well by the image of Tezuka with his guard lowered. “Shall we end here and maybe eat dinner together?”

“Actually… I’m sorry, but I won’t be able to join you. Feel free to go without me.”

“Aww, I was hoping it would be Tezuka-buchou’s treat too.”

“Just for saying that, Momoshiro, it’ll be your treat the next time we have the opportunity to eat together.”

“Eeh.”

* * *

There was no harm in checking how things were going at the cafe; he’d done it a few times on his way back home before out of curiosity, and he’d even done it just a week ago. It was completely harmless, however the fact that his intentions for the impromptu visit were now different, less innocuous, rubbed at him the wrong way. Notwithstanding that, curiosity still held a strong reign on Tezuka and so, he continued to make his way to the cafe.

He didn’t even know what to expect. Or at least, he knew that he was expecting the young man to be there, but didn’t know what exactly would follow after his curiosity had been put to rest. Would he be there? What if he was?

What if he wasn’t?

What would that entail? For all the lack of work his mind had been doing in recent days, it was now running overtime. He didn’t even know his  _ name _ . What if it was just a coincidence, a stroke of luck never to come again, that the man happened to decide that he’d patron the same cafe two days in a row? What if Tezuka wouldn’t get the chance to see him again? Would that nag at him for the rest of his life? Why  _ should _ it nag at him for the rest of his life? He’s only known him, in the most loose implication of the word, for two days.

And he didn’t even know his  _ name _ .

_ Pathetic _ , Tezuka calls himself mentally.  _ Why are you acting as though you’re so infatuated by him? _

Except he  _ did _ know why. He didn’t believe in love at first sight and he still didn’t; it was superficial and Tezuka was never one to be considered materialistic by any means. The tennis racquet he had on hand was on the pricier side, yes, however that was the full extent of where Tezuka would spend top dollar and for the most part, he was rather humble with his expenses. To the point that others would poke at him for it, really.

But the moment the man spoke, accentuated and played into the attractiveness of his psyche, it was more than skin deep.

He reached the cafe with the revelation that, unfortunately, he had developed a small crush on a man whose name he hadn’t even known yet.

Tezuka sighed. That “yet” made him hopeful, and he knew deep within him that this crush wouldn’t grow into anything more.

_...Unless it did. _

Tezuka eyes widened at the sight of the man sat at the same table he did before, once again busy typing away and completely unaware of Tezuka stood right outside the shop.

Wasn’t this what he was expecting? Wasn’t this what he wanted?

Face growing red again, Tezuka quickly placed a foot forward, then the other foot forward, and then the other foot forward again until he was now brisk walking away from the cafe and towards the direction of his apartment.

He had a crush on him. And he didn’t even know his name.

* * *

 

“Ah, you’re here today!”  _ He realised. _ “Yesterday, I was planning to ask for ‘the usual’ because I thought you might remember me by now, but there were other people on duty.”

Tezuka hadn’t really been given the chance to properly examine every little thing about him, but he realised that the young man had a glimmering smile. A pleasant curve of his lips easy on the eyes, and dark eyes reflecting a gentle expression. Delicate, like a soft breeze brushing against a vibrant flower with the sun shining above head and casting a radiant glow. He was dazzling, but in the muted sense; not overboard, but distinctly more so than most.

Tezuka tried to fight down a blush. "Yes, I'm usually not on shift on Thursdays. However, if I am on duty, please feel free to ask for your usual order."

"I'll do just that. Then which days do you normally work?"

"I am usually on shift on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays."

"Then perhaps I'll only come here on Tuesdays, Wednesdays and Fridays."

Tezuka’s heart physically leapt for joy, and the butterflies in his stomach grew aflutter. Averting his gaze down onto the cashier in an attempt to hide the growing redness of his cheeks, Tezuka said aloud the man’s order with as much composure he could muster and keyed it into the system.

How could someone so easily affect him like this? He blamed it on his voice. That low, rich like dark chocolate voice.

After the man made his payment and walked off to his usual seat, Tezuka requested to switch places with his colleague working on the drinks and was relieved when he agreed. With his back now facing the rest of the shop, he worked tirelessly as the lunch rush came around and a sea of customers flocked into the cafe, trying his best to keep his hands busy so he could prevent his mind from drifting again to the dark-haired customer he’s now shared a handful of interactions with. Far too many interactions to keep the man tucked away into the regresses of his mind, label him as nothing but a pipe dream or a coincidental encounter far away from his reach.

He knew things were getting worse for him when a part of him hoped the man would look his way, and was slightly disappointed to see nothing but Tezuka’s back.

* * *

 

His burgeoning attraction towards the young male was starting to become a problem, because next Tuesday rolled in and when the navy-haired man was nowhere to be seen, it stuck out like a sore thumb for Tezuka.

After months of never looking up to give the customers direct eye contact, Tezuka now found himself hopeful with each ring of the bell and his head would immediately dart up, only to be let down by another regular customer’s entry or someone else that wasn’t  _ him _ .

It was really starting to get pathetic, Tezuka thought. He just  _ met _ him— wait. Could he even call it that if till this day, he still didn’t know his name?

The reminder that their ‘relationship’ was no more than that of a barista and his nameless customer struck a chord within Tezuka. How rude would it be if he got to know his name? Was he allowed to bridge the gap between them? Would the man even be interested to know Tezuka’s name?

Somehow each thought dug a hole deeper than the previous, and Tezuka didn’t know how to climb out of it.

“You alright, Tezuka?” Kikumaru poked his shoulder and took a good look at him. “You’re all absent-minded again.”

“I’m fine,” Tezuka mumbled, adjusting his glasses even though they sat perfectly well on the bridge of his nose as usual.

“Ah. Is it because that usual customer of yours hasn’t come?”

“Kikumaru.”

“ _Whaaat?_ You know that’s a thing! We’ve been doing this for, what, 7 months now? Things get really boring so when you have a customer who comes in and chats with you every now and then, it’s nice. There’s only so much we can do to keep ourselves entertained when there aren’t any customers, you know?.”

Ah. Is that what it was?

Kikumaru had a point. How many times had they day in and day out performed the same tasks? If you took the morning shift, you’d help open the shop. When a customer walks in, you greet the customer and take their order. After preparing the customer’s order, you serve it to their table and go back to the counter to proceed on with the next order. If you took the evening shift, you’d help close the shop, clean up and tidy things here and there so that those who had the morning shift the next day would have less work to do.

It truly did become a mundane routine; surely a fresh face (or in this case, an absolutely  _ breathtaking _ face) who made small talk here and there, even noticed when the supposedly expandable employees weren't the same ones that had served him, was reason for excitement?

No, that wasn’t it… As much as Tezuka wanted to be in denial and escape with any reason he could latch onto, he knew that it wasn’t just that. He had a crush on the man. He was sure of it now.

And Tezuka couldn’t wait for it to be over.

* * *

If Tezuka had been experiencing emotional highs for the past few days, then today it was the opposite.

At first it began the same way it always did, except Tezuka could immediately tell from the first step the dark-haired stranger took into the cafe that there was something different about him. Everything seemed to have mellowed down; what was once a glimmering glow surrounding him merely flickered and even at times extinguished into black smoke.

There was a tiredness to his voice now as well; while the man was never particularly boisterous or brimming with energy from the start, he now spoke in slower drawls overflowing with lethargy. Though what struck out to Tezuka the most was his smile. That signature moon lit smile was now darker than before, the corners of his lips barely lifting up to display a distinct curve.

Not to mention the fact that (and Tezuka had his reservations on this because  _ surely  _ this was taking things too far with his obsession?) Tezuka thought that the circles under his eyes had grown a deeper shade of brown.

“Good morning, Mr. Barista. Could I get the usual but with an extra shot of espresso or more caffeine? I’m feeling a lot more groggy than usual.”

There it was, that haggard smile. It hit Tezuka like a pang in the heart and clutched at the the depths of his stomach.

“Certainly. Please take a seat and we’ll serve your order to you shortly.”

“Thank you once again for your hard work.”

Tezuka watched as the man miraculously manage to drag himself over to his table despite his languid state and plop himself down onto the seat. He wondered what could have happened over the weekend that drained almost all of the man’s life force to the point that Tezuka was worried he’d collapse and drop dead at any moment? Perhaps it was something to do with all the typing he’d done during his visits, Tezuka guessed. Though he wouldn’t be able to confirm his assumptions because, and this slammed hard into Tezuka’s chest again, they were nothing but barista and customer.

Did he spend all of his weekend on his laptop? And did he decide to do it in the comfort of his own abode, sticking true to his little joke that he would only come on the days Tezuka had work? He could easily ask someone who was on shift then if they’d seen the man patron them but as tempting as it was, he didn’t want to seem any more of a creepy stalker than he already did.

The bell on the front door chimed and a business woman in sleek black heels stepped into the cafe, dressed smartly in a white button up blouse and a black pencil skirt. Tezuka thought that she had on a skirt far shorter than the ones other female customers he’d seen had worn, but never really put much thought into it as he took her order.

It was only after, when Tezuka saw where the lady had decided to sit, that his vision on her drastically sharpened.

Ignoring the growing pit on his stomach for now, Tezuka believed there was no doubt that the lady was at least a decade or two older than the younger male companion she sat with, and yet despite that they seemed to be close in acquaintance with one another. Or at least that was the impression they left on Tezuka after she gave him a gentle whack on the shoulder.

_ No. _

The young man pulled out a thick Manilla envelope from his bag (this was the first time Tezuka realised that he brought a shoulder bag today instead of just his laptop tucked away safely in a laptop sleeve) to pass to the lady. She pulled out a stack of paper kept within said envelope and her eyes immediately perused what the papers contained, carefully examining each individual page and letting out a comment as appropriate.

The woman tucked behind her ear a few strands of stray hair that had begun to fall down and crossed a leg over the other, revealing fair skin on the now more exposed neck and legs long and slender. His eyes couldn’t help but immediately dart over to the young man, whose on eyes in turn seemed to have subtly (but not subtle enough, if Tezuka noticed) taken a glance or two down the span of fair legs.

_ No. _

Tezuka could feel, no, even  _ hear _ the hard thumping of his heart, but this time what came along with it was not the thrill and rush of a newfound interest but all the negative that came from infatuation.

Was he feeling jealous?

He was. There was no doubt about it now, not with how his blood began to boil the moment she inched her chair closer to his and leaned in under the pretence of pinpointing to him something in one of those papers. He leaned in closer as well, taking a good look at the area in question as she closed their distance even further and murmured near his ear—

_ No, don’t get any closer to him. _

Tezuka couldn’t take it anymore, he had to avert his eyes and look away. Teeth clenching behind the privacy of his lips, he began to wipe the countertop, not out of necessity but really as a form of distraction. He did anything he could to distract himself from the two now flirting before his eyes (he knew they weren’t flirting but logic at times gave way to irrationality in the face of love and in his eyes, they were  _ obscene _ ). Tezuka’s goal was to keep himself from thinking about the tall, dark stranger who seemed to always elicit such a strong emotional response from him, whether it be positive or negative.

What was he  _ thinking _ ?

* * *

_ Lips locked in a passionate embrace, hands cupping and feeling for whatever bare skin they could find under pesky clothing. Tezuka was feeling light-headed and all the blood from his brain went rushing down to the tips of his fingers where he scratched and dug at the back of the dark-haired stranger he so often found coming to the cafe. Now they were in the privacy of Tezuka's apartment, Tezuka himself pressed up against the young man who he had pinned to the wall. _

_ Tezuka wasn’t operating on rationality. Only on the immense desire to leave his mark on this man and to never let him forget who he was. Soon the shirts came flying off and Tezuka wrapped an arm around his waist, pulling him closer and skin on skin. All Tezuka could feel was the heat from where their bodies met, and the equally fast beating of their hearts. _

_ Soon Tezuka felt hands in his hair, gripping and tugging at whatever they could and Tezuka growled quietly between their lips. They eventually broke apart for air and Tezuka rested his forehead against his, panting heavily and letting their breaths mingle together. The man’s hands leave his hair and slide down to the sides of his face, cupping his cheeks and gazing deep into Tezuka’s eyes. _

_ “Kunimitsu...” _

Tezuka woke up with a jolt and he immediately shot upright, hands making their way into his hair and combing through the bed-dishevelled threads and strands.  He could feel his heart banging against his rib cage, insistent that Tezuka let sink in the effects of having a dream,  _ just _ a dream, with the nameless stranger in it.

Imagine how it would all feel like in reality…

Tezuka vigorously shook his head as though under the impression that he could physically knock the thought of it out of his mind permanently, and he soon faces the repercussions of executing such an energy-demanding action despite his half-awake state. Feeling dizzy, he laid back down onto his bed and rolled onto his side, curling up ever so slightly and holding himself tight.

He didn’t want to think about the slight dampness he could make out from within his pants, he didn’t want to think about what might have lead him to this point, he didn’t want to recall the dream he just had.

But he couldn’t help it. The events in his dream replayed in his head like a technicolour blur and Tezuka shoved his face deep into his pillow.

* * *

Tezuka dare not look at him in the eye today. Not after the  _ lecherous _ dream he had with the person in question being an active participant in it; he had far too guilty a conscience, and it was literally just last night when he had committed the unconscious crime. Everything was still fresh in his head, and what Tezuka would give to have it all flushed away, to be forgotten and never again dredged.

The bell rung and what used to bring light to Tezuka’s day now only warned him of his impending doom, trepidation sinking deep into his bones.

_ Just keep your head down and keep things brief, you can do this. _

“Good morning, Mr Barista. I hope you’re doing well today?” His smile was like stardust, radiant in its own right, and it tugged on Tezuka’s heartstrings.

He quickly lowered his gaze down onto the cashier; he couldn’t give in this early. “Good morning, may I take your order?”

The nameless customer was clearly taken aback by Tezuka’s unusual lack of mood to engage in idle conversation. Normally he would respond a bit more, give a small comment here and there, even a polite smile. But it was now all business, the conversation curtailed to the bare-bones, and the man reverted to a more polite manner of speech. “A-Ah, yes. I’d like the usual, please.”

“A hot cup of black coffee, right away. That will be 420 yen.”

Tezuka completed the transaction as quickly as he could and didn’t even look up until he saw from the corner of his eyes that the man had gone off to take his seat. Usually Tezuka would have volunteered to serve his coffee but today he asked another to do it, pretending that he was already engaged in another task and not even glancing over to see if the man would look the least bit perplexed by the sudden switch.

Tezuka knew that he was most likely exaggerating things. As his mind so often liked to remind him, they were no more than barista and customer; why would the young man care if another person served his coffee or if the person who took his order was less cordial than usual?

Nevertheless it was better this way, Tezuka thought to himself. He hadn’t the wherewithal to abandon his intrigue for the dark-haired stranger, but he had to. He must. Better to quit cold turkey than let things spiral out of hand.

The rest of the day remained the same, minus Tezuka’s previous penchant for indulging in a few glances (or a thousand, to be more accurate) over at the navy-haired customer who had so easily taken his fancy. He knew it was no use hoping for a quick release from his now ongoing torment, the man would say till it was time to close the shop, and yet he hoped nevertheless; the temptation to sneak a peek grew as time went on and even the various distractions available to him at work weren’t enough to keep his attention entirely away from him.

After what felt like a century, it was soon closing time and the handful of customers that remained, including the attractive man, soon left in an orderly fashion. Tezuka had to stifle a sigh of relief now that he was no longer subjected to the cruel torture of his unrequited infatuation close by and he volunteered to remain and sweep the floors after everyone else was done with their after-hour duties.

Finally left alone, with no one to see or hear his rare show of weakness, he lowered his guard and allowed for his shoulders to drop, letting out the sigh he had to fight down as he began to sweep. It was rather therapeutic, actually, and it was for that reason why Tezuka volunteered to do it (even if it may have seemed selfless to the others). The almost meditative chore allowed him time to himself, to healthily attempt at filtering out all the various thoughts regarding a certain particular someone from his mind.

Unfortunately, the mentally salubrious activity was short lived.

The bell all of a sudden rung and Tezuka immediately looked up in shock, rightfully so given how he wasn’t expecting any company at all that night. He was even more surprised to see that the man he’d so been trying to get off his mind returned and was now inching closer towards him.

The customer lamented. “I’m sorry, but I think I left something here...”

Caught off guard by the sudden visit, Tezuka forgot his little pact to himself of keeping a distance from him and he immediately looked around the shop for any unfamiliar items that weren’t supposed to be there during off hours. Surely enough, a notebook lay on the man’s table from earlier and Tezuka walked over to retrieve it, bringing it back to the man with a small smile.

“Here you go.”

“Thank you. I hope you’re feeling better now?”

_ Crap. _

Tezuka tried to school his expression back to one of complete neutrality. “Thank you for the concern, however I was feeling well all day.”

Clearly that was not the response he was expecting to or wanted to hear, because the dark-haired young man frowned and his gaze met the ground. “I-Is that so, that’s good...”

No. No, no, no,  _ no _ .

Tezuka didn’t want to see that, he hadn’t the means to shield himself against such an expression. A look of complete distraught, evidently disquieted, as though Tezuka’s words had completely shattered him.

He was contrite. He had to do something to salvage the situation, about to open his mouth and say whatever first came to mind, but he was beaten to it.

“I’m sorry, this might be an inconvenience for you but I’ve been wanting to get something off my chest. My name is Oshitari, Oshitari Yuushi. And I think I quite like you.”

_...Huh? _

Could Tezuka even seek to articulate all that he was experiencing right now? In just a matter of a split second, Tezuka’s expression goes from confusion to embarrassment as the man’s, no,  _ Oshitari’s _ words began to sink in and find home in his mind. Blood surged up towards his face and spread across the expanse of his cheeks, his heart now banging ruthlessly against his rib cage at an alarming speed. His vision was a blur and he could hear his heartbeat right between his ears. Tezuka was incredulous, from the top of his head down to the tips of his toes, and completely lost for words.

“I’m sorry if I’m overstepping, but I just… I didn’t want to be nothing but your customer anymore.”

_ Me too. _

“I wanted to give this to you before I left today, but I chickened out earlier because I thought it was a bad time.”

Oshitari (oh, how Tezuka  _ loved _ the ring of his name in his head) reached into the pocket of his coat and pulled out a small piece of folded paper, holding it out for Tezuka to take. Still too dumbfounded by all that was now unfolding, it was more so his body on reflex than conscious effort when Tezuka took the paper from him and unfolded it, revealing a series of numbers written in black with “Oshitari Yuushi” written on top of it.

It was his number.

“You don’t have to answer right away, but… if you’d like to go out with me some time, please don’t hesitate to message me. Goodnight, Mr Barista. I hope to hear from you soon.”

Oshitari came and left like a whirlwind, leaving behind a mess of words and emotions for Tezuka to decipher and sift through. It was only once Oshitari had left that Tezuka finally managed to find  _ some _ words he wanted to say, but all that was left was himself and the broom he almost forgot he let rest against a table.

* * *

Thirty minutes had already passed since Tezuka climbed onto his bed for the night and sat down with his back against the wall, and yet he remained motionless. He had in his hand the piece of paper with Oshitari’s name, and on the other he had his phone held up and ready to press “Add Number”.

Even the mere act of adding Oshitari’s number onto his phone felt too big a step, a commitment far too much for Tezuka to take on. You’d think that Tezuka would have immediately jumped at the opportunity to grow closer to the man he had for weeks now had a crush on, but Tezuka was anything  _ but _ enthusiastic about the whole situation.

Don’t get him wrong, he was to the moon ecstatic. But, and this was a negative point, Oshitari was a dream come true. Witty and charismatic, well-balanced with Tezuka’s normally stoic nature, yet sensible and by no means overly gregarious. Tezuka feared that it was all a fantasy he conjured up in his head, that the dark-haired male was nothing like he appeared to be thus far, and getting closer to Oshitari would leave him disenchanted and disappointed.

He would admit that it was his fault in the first place for holding Oshitari to such a high regard, but could you blame him? Oshitari was the main lead in all the romance novels or television dramas he’s heard girls talk about; smart, kind and handsome, with not a fault to his name if not for perhaps he may seem to be too sensitive. But that was still a redeeming and desirable attribute, more than anything else, and frankly Tezuka felt as though he was nowhere near the same level as Oshitari was.

He still couldn’t wrap his head around all that had happened just hours ago. Thinking back on it all again, reliving the moment when Oshitari murmured those sweet words (“I think I quite like you”, “I think I quite like you”, his mind echoed in reminiscence), made his cheeks go the same shade of scarlet he was certain he had on his face back then.

Tezuka kept away the piece of paper into his nightstand drawer before he slid under the covers and tucked himself in. There was no use trying to come up with his next course of action with his mind abuzz and his heart still a rhythmic drumbeat. He took one final look at his phone’s screen, thumb hovering over the “Add Number” button, before he chickened out again and kept his phone away.

Maybe tomorrow he would wake up from this enchanting dream and he wouldn’t have to deal with this anymore.

* * *

Tezuka wasn’t certain if he was relieved that Oshitari hadn’t shown up the next day, or if he was disappointed that he couldn’t see Oshitari’s face.

Oshitari’s phone number still sat in its place in Tezuka’s bedside drawer; it  _ wasn’t _ just a fever dream he managed to conjure up despite being inexcusably and undeniably healthy, and he had to admit that it gave him a rush of jubilee. There it still was, bold numbers in black ink against a white canvas staring back at him. He kept it back into the drawer before getting ready for the day.

Why was he so hesitant? Wait, he went through that already. More times than he should have, if he were to be honest. When someone says they like you and you like them back, you go on a date. Plain and simple. Hopefully then after another date is arranged, and then maybe another one until you both decide to make it official and call each other the wonderful label of "lovers". That was how it was supposed to be, and that was how it was for Tezuka's past relationships.

His mind barraged him with all sorts of various questions. What was it that made this particular scenario so different? Was it because of the other party in question? Was it because of where he thought he stood in comparison to the other party? Does that mean he was unintentionally bringing down his exes for insinuating they were all not of the same calibre as Oshitari? What did that even mean? Or maybe, he was just… shy?

People found Tezuka to be rather stoic, but perhaps it was just because he was far too occupied entertaining the thoughts that habitually encircled his mind. Pessimism truly made for some intriguing internal back and forth, and clearly Tezuka's brain had no plans of stopping any time soon.

"An iced cafe au lait, that would be 450 yen. Thank you, please take a seat and we will serve your order to you shortly."

Maybe he was also just being judicious. It never hurt to think one or two steps ahead, weigh the various pros and cons and consider the possible consequences. But that was the thing about love that Tezuka had always found frightening; love wasn’t about rationality and logic, it was about feelings and what came most natural.

He continued on to serve the next customer and afterwards allowed himself a small sigh — his mind was working overtime again, even though he knew deep down that there was no need for his reluctance and hesitance.

What if Oshitari had taken Tezuka’s lack of approach as a rejection and picked another cafe to regularly patron? Would he then not be coming back again? Was Tezuka too late?

Was last night the last time he’d ever see Oshitari?

Tezuka sighed again, this time heavier than usual and he was glad that nobody was nearby enough or in any way paying attention to him to see the momentary vulnerability.

He’d have to wait and see until Friday came along, and the anxiety was already starting to build up.

* * *

Another no show and reality finally sinks in, crushing what little of Tezuka remained after all the events these past three weeks and forcing him to face the music.

He knew it. He knew it would eventually not lead to anything and yet, he hoped. For what, he was still unsure.

But not this. Definitely not this.

Tezuka stared at the door almost forlornly, still hoping that Oshitari would at least show up or honestly for anything to happen, at this point. He knew he didn’t have the right to mope around; the ball was on  _ his _ court and it was  _ he _ who was too chicken to send Oshitari a message, not Oshitari who made the first move and gave him his number. Tezuka was well aware of that.

Yet when all was set and done, Tezuka’s thumb still hesitated over the “Add Number” button; imagine how long it would take for him to type out a message to  _ send _ , for the other party to  _ read _ .

Tezuka thought his head was now heating up from all the stimulus and constant back and forth. Whenever he thought he was finally getting somewhere, finally finding the courage to press the damn button, he would think otherwise and second guess himself. What was there even to second guess?

Did Oshitari say that he was interested in Tezuka? Check. Did he give Tezuka his number? Check. Did Tezuka finally know his name? Check.

All that was left for Tezuka to do was plain as day; message Oshitari and arrange for a… date…

For all the fantasies and daydreams his mind had been conjuring up for him, he still couldn’t imagine himself together with Oshitari. And he knew that if he didn’t do anything soon, what little chance of that happening at all would cease to exist.

* * *

It had been three weeks since he met Oshitari. Three weeks since he’d been under that gorgeous man’s enchantment and completely bewitched by a voice so captivating. Words always escaped him whenever the topic of Oshitari came to mind, rendered him unable to articulate words or formulate coherent thoughts. Maybe it was also because of that stimulus overload, along with the amalgamation of things all escalating too fast for Tezuka’s liking in regards to his own feelings, that Tezuka has yet to send Oshitari a message a full week after that night, deciding instead to run away from it all and keep to his shy ways. There was nothing more comforting than sticking to your comfort zone, after all.

Tezuka volunteers again to stay back and help finish everything before locking up and leaving. As he sweeps at the floor and brings the chairs down from their tables back into place, he allows his mind to wander and go back to the events of the day.

It was yet another no show, and Tezuka was starting to think that Oshitari  _ did _ takes his silence as a rejection. Was it too late to send him a message? Even if he weren’t, Tezuka doubts that he could find it within him to work up enough courage to carry out the deed. If it were that simple, Tezuka wouldn’t even have waited for things to take this long; he would’ve gone up to Oshitari right then and there from the start, or upped the barely existent flirting game on his part by tenfold.

Tezuka shakes his head and lets out what bore the resemblance to a snicker, believing the thought of himself participating in an act as uncharacteristic for him as blatant flirting was cause enough for amusement. If anyone were around at the moment, he would have kept the small laugh to himself but now he’s all alone, left to his own devices in the privacy of his own company.

Until the bell rings and he was no longer alone.

In an instant, Tezuka’s head shoots up and he almost loses grip on the last chair he has to flip back down onto the ground. As luck would have it, he manages to gently set it down while taking in the new (well, not  _ exactly _ new) face that joins him in the cafe. Oshitari had clearly come dashing over with all his might, if not made obvious enough by his heavy breathing and how his shoulders heaved as he panted, but why he had reason to be in such a hurry was lost to Tezuka.

“Oshitari-san…?”

“A-Are you… still open?” Oshitari stammers as he tries to breathe in as much as he could.

Tezuka’s eyebrows knit in the middle of his forehead and a look of perplexion takes over his face. The dim lights, the ‘CLOSED’ sign in bold, unmistakable letters up front; surely those were enough indicators that the shop was currently off operational hours. “Um… no. I’m sorry.”

“Just as well, I wanted to ask for something you don’t have on the menu.”

Tezuka’s confusion grows. “And that is…?”

Oshitari straightens up and looks at Tezuka straight in the eye, his gaze unwavering and his voice rid of all casuals. “Your number.”

The air in Tezuka’s lungs escape him and his heart yet again goes into a frenzy of a rhythm, a blush now creeping up to take home underneath the skin of his cheeks and his feet bolted down to the ground. His mind is once more a hazy mess and all Tezuka could really make out is the outline of Oshitari’s face, getting closer and closer until Oshitari now stood before him. Not exceptionally close, but enough so that Oshitari could lower his voice and make Tezuka go crazy.

“In all seriousness, Mr Barista—”

“M-My name is Tezuka,” Tezuka quickly interrupts Oshitari and he doesn’t know where all this sudden burst of courage is coming from. Perhaps Tezuka was truly sick of being nothing more than ‘Mr Barista’ to Oshitari. “Tezuka… Kunimitsu.”

Oshitari’s expression softens and delight colours his features, eyes now glimmering and his smile once more dazzling, like the day they first met. “Tezuka. Tezuka Kunimitsu.” Oshitari repeats Tezuka’s name, and Tezuka’s heart leaps. “What a beautiful name. Of course you’d have a name as beautiful as that.”

The sincerity of Oshitari’s praise takes hold of Tezuka’s heart and squeezes it tight, rendering him all the more speechless and unable to fully process anything other than the increasing heat on his face. Oshitari closes the distance between them and gently,  _ delicately _ , he takes Tezuka’s hands into his own. Oshitari’s hands were warm, like a blanket on a cold winter day, and Tezuka feels his own heat radiating out and spilling from his hands into where they made contact.

“I’m sorry,” Oshitari murmurs. “I tried to give you some space because I didn’t want to seem too forward, but I couldn’t wait anymore. Would it be alright for me to ask you out on a date?”

Slowly, Tezuka gives a nod of his head and Oshitari immediately beams with joy.

Sometimes, working overtime isn’t so bad.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think I'll ever revisit this story line again but if anyone wants to see if they were correct on their guess, Yuushi was a romance novelist! Tezuka will eventually come to know that his boyfriend is an up-and-coming writer who hasn't revealed his face yet, but really I think I've been putting more thought to this than I wanted so I'm gonna stop here before I ramble.
> 
> You can't imagine how hard it was for me to not use 'Oshitari' before Tezuka found out his name, and how annoying it was getting trying to think of variations for "dark-haired stranger", "young male/man", etc. I think I've gone insane.
> 
> Once again, sorry if this was bad but thanks so much for reading it!! The hits make me feel more accomplished ;;


End file.
